


Remembrances

by HalfFilledNotebook



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Backstory, Feelings, Gen, Honestly just sad stuff, Loss, Memories, sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 02:42:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30132780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfFilledNotebook/pseuds/HalfFilledNotebook
Summary: After defeating the Magmatitan, Amaya comes back home to Katolis, dealing with the loss of her sister through the past memories, present lives, and future friendships.
Kudos: 5





	Remembrances

**Author's Note:**

> There is really no dialogue in this, only sign language, but it is still marked similar to dialogue. Just a heads up.

When the dust had settled and the fire of battle was gone, the ache of remembrance had set in. The trudge back to Katolis was long, devoid of the adrenaline that had fueled their way there. From a strategic, by-the-numbers standpoint, the journey was a success. They had slain the magmatitan, taking its heart back for the lands of Katolis and Duren. No mouth would go unfed, and there would be no want. 

But from an emotional standpoint— the battle had been a total loss. Baby Aanya, now Queen Aanya, would rule without her mothers guiding her. King Harrow had lost his greatest advisor, Katolis had lost their Queen. And Amaya?

She had lost her sister.

She had had trouble rationalizing the thought on the solemn march back. Her body was already racked with pain, what felt like every rib broken underneath her battered armor and her cut face still weeping blood. Every thought seemed to be mixed gibberish or flashes of pain, her sight faltering with each step farther. So when Harrow had tapped her shoulder, with a grim-faced Viren behind him, she thought his broken Katolis sign was a mistake.

“S-A-R-A-I”  
“Dead”

But it was no mistake, none in the slightest. Through her blurry eyes, she watched Viren’s lips. He had seen her last breath, and she had saved him from the great beast, Thunder. Viren spun a tale so fanciful anyone paying attention would think he was the victim. She had nearly socked him in the mouth then and there, taking staggering steps toward him until Harrow cut her off. He led her away, walking with her the rest of the way back. There was no communication— Harrow only knew enough signs to communicate basic needs (and a few lewd terms Amaya had taught him), and Amaya had spoken only through her sister. But the void of words was a blessing, for neither of them were trying to patch the hole freshly torn in their hearts. Their tears fell together, all the same. 

When the motley crew had staggered back, the onlookers seemed to know that some part of the mission had failed. Harrow did not tell anyone right away— especially not his son, Callum. Amaya had been led away from the fray, her body in sore need of repair. She’d been patched up by the team of nurses that lived within the castle walls, armor stripped off and ribs being braced so that she could seldom breathe without feeling like she’d break the splints. After that had been set, they tended at last to the wound marring her face. The bandages were heavy there, obscuring some of the vision in her right eye. At last, the nurses had helped her back to her chamber (the guest bedroom, for her real home was at the Breach), telling her, under no circumstance, was she to get out of bed. 

That had lasted for a few minutes. Amaya could only stare at the ceiling for so long before she had to do something. Every time she closed her eyes, the battle came back to her, so sleep was not a viable option. She had gritted her teeth through the screaming pain, pushing herself to get out of bed. Her stocking feet hit the cold stone floor, jolting her into some sense of consciousness.

So much of this room reminded Amaya of Sarai that it wasn’t even funny. The guest room Amaya stayed in had become somewhat of a storeroom, mainly because Amaya rarely frequented it (and because an object falling in the night didn’t bother her in the slightest). Broken spears, old robes, boots with holes torn in them— half of them were Sarai’s. 

Amaya walked over to a table that stood at the opposite of the foot of the bed, pushing aside a few of the relics to grab a small canvas that sat on the table. Carefully she picked it up, looking at the two smiling faces painted upon it. It was old, one that had been painted a few years prior, but had stood the test of time. The paint cracked in a few places, but was otherwise like the first time she had seen it.

The scene depicted was her and Sarai, the same day the family had had their official portraits painted. Amaya had rode in as the painter was packing up, meeting him at the gates. She was a mess, stinking of smoke and sweat from her time at the Breach. Just as she dismounted her horse, she caught sight of her sister, waving the painter back. She knew that look in Sarai’s eyes, knowing the words coming out of her mouth were more sweet than her favorite jelly tarts. Sarai then turned back to Amaya, quickly signing,

“If I get my picture painted, you have to as well!”

“Sister, I look like I’ve been run over by the King’s brigade. There is no way in Xadia I’m posing for a portrait.” She had replied.

Sarai didn’t answer, instead pulling her sister close and smiling like a fool. Amaya had rolled her eyes, going along with it. The painting was quick, nothing as detailed as the official portraits, but it was still beautiful. Sarai had been painted with her crown crooked and smudge of jelly tart filling on her face, holding her spear with an arm around Amaya. And Amaya had looked just as rough, hair mussed and hiding half her body with her battle shield. 

Laughing slightly, she flipped the canvas over. There was a note written on the back, something she hadn’t noticed before. Across the rough canvas looped her sister’s handwriting.

Sister,  
I’m not sure if there are places to hang pictures at the Breach, but if there are, I will come down there and hang it myself. Whatever it takes to embarrass you just a bit, I will do, brave and stoic General Amaya. Until then, I will keep teaching my Callum sign language— and if you ever try to teach him naughty words again, I will box your ears. Let him grow up a bit, then you can impart that wisdom on him. Love, your dearest sister,  
Sarai

Amaya let out a sigh. She would miss Sarai, more than anyone would ever know. No one else would dare bust their general’s balls like her own sister did. Amaya laid the canvas back down, shuffling to the door, hoping to get some fresh air (and hide from the sour nurses who had shut her in here). She slipped on some boots that sat by the door, sure they were originally her’s by the way the soles were worn. Just as she laid a hand on the doorknob, the door swung open at her, catching her off guard.

In the doorway stood a blushing, slightly embarrassed soldier of the standing army. He didn’t look like the rest— not battle worn, his freckled face still holding some form of innocence. As Amaya put a hand on her hip, he ran his fingers through his ginger hair, trying to make it go flat.

“General Amaya, I am Gren. Harrow sent me here to talk to you,” the boy signed. “May I come in?”

“You may not. I was just leaving.” Amaya pushed him out of the doorway, but motioned for him to walk with her down the hallway. “So, Harrow sent you? How is he?”

“Quite upset. He hasn’t told his son, or his foot soldiers. He only told me because he wanted me to talk to you.”

Amaya sighed. Poor Callum, that boy with a heart of gold and soul of stars. She did not want to be there when the news was broken to him.

Grey tapped her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts. His hands went back to work, quickly signing conversation.

“And how are you holding up?”

“Me?” The personal question caught her off guard, so much so that she instinctively answered about her condition rather than her well-being. “A few days rest and I’ll be back on my horse.”

“No, how are you personally holding up?” He took a deep breath with an open mouth, his chest rising and falling under his armor. “Sarai was your sister, was she not?”

“Very observant, freckles.” She smiled. “She was the greatest sister a woman could ask for.”

“She was the greatest queen as well.” Gren stopped, reaching up to lay a hand on Amaya’s shoulder. He was bold, if not naive, for any other soldier would’ve already been kicked in the pants. But something about him reminded her of Sarai, almost a reincarnate of her soft and motherly side.

“General Amaya, I am not your soldier, but I am one of the few here who can speak with you. I am at your service as long as you need me, and if you do not need me, I will fall back to my ranks.”

Gren bowed, smiling one last time before starting to walk away. Hoping to get his attention, she quickly stomped, sending a shockwave of pain up her aching body. He turned, paying attention once more.

“Have you ever been to the Breach, soldier?”

“No, I have not.” He replied to her question.

“Get ready to experience it. You’re under my command now, Gren.”

She stuck out a hand after she finished signing. Rather than take it, the ginger haired soldier instead fell into her arms, his messy hair brushing across Amaya’s face. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the innocence of this one. Almost as though he noticed the error in his choice, he quickly pulled away, hands snapping to his side before he signed again.

“Sorry, General. I got excited.”

“You are fine. But don’t ever do that around the rest of my troops, or I will kick you where the sun doesn’t shine. Guaranteed.”

“Noted.” He sheepishly signed back. “Do you need anything before I go?”

She paused for a moment, thinking of what to say. She then reached in her pocket, pulling out the one gold piece she had. With a swift motion, she flicked it to the soldier, who clumsily caught it.

“If you see Harrow before I do, tell him thank you. And if you don’t, go into town and get yourself a jelly tart.”

Both bowed their heads in gratitude, then went their separate ways. Amaya knew not where she was going, she just had to move. She had never been able to sit idle, even when she was younger. Amaya knew the world by touch and sight, so exploring it firsthand had always been more interesting to her. When things went wrong, she would ride her horse for hours, far away from those who tried to communicate their problems away. Oftentimes, the person who would bring her back home from those rides was her sister, Sarai. But now, she was gone, and there was no one to bring her back. Her mind told her now to walk, keep taking steps until she could take no more. She could let the earth take her, let the Breach find a new general, let the world right itself without her as a factor. 

Suddenly, she felt a touch on her waist, snapping her out of her thoughts. She looked down, seeing the soft face and messy brown hair owned by the young Callum. Judging by his happy demeanor, she only assumed he still didn’t know the truth of the battle. Gritting through the pain, she bent down to her knees, crossing her arms across her chest in the sign for love, one which he mirrored.

“What have you been doing, young man?”

“Stealing jelly tarts.” Callum smiled at his signed words.

“Just like your mother.”

Amaya couldn’t help but laugh. Callum had learned from the best, and she was sure baby Ezran would be born with the instinct. Even when Sarai had been courting Harrow, she would bring her sister along, the two changing out of her formal clothes and sneaking into town. Stealing pastries had never been a favorite activity for Amaya, mainly because quiet sneaking wasn’t her forte (and it didn’t need to be, when you were as imposing as Amaya). But Sarai figured that into the plan, using her sister as her decoy. Amaya would knock over pots and pans in the bakery, blushing and smiling, buying the pity and attention of the portly baker. Sarai, meanwhile, would steal enough tarts for the both. They made a perfect team, the both of them.

“When Ezran gets old enough, I will teach him.” The young boy smirked as he signed.

“You two will be naturals.”

She watched as Callum reached in the bag slung over his shoulder, looking both ways before he pulled out a half-squashed tart and put it on the ground before Amaya. He then winked, starting to leave. Before he could, Amaya pulled him into a hug.

“You will make your mother proud, Callum.” She signed after they released.

Callum cocked his head, confused at the suddenly wistful words.

“Just trust me.” She smiled. “She’ll always love you, as will I.”

“I know.” He signed, his face drawn up in a smile. He then waved, running off to find a new thing to occupy his mind. 

Amaya didn’t move, looking down at the pastry on the cobblestone. She sighed, signing one last time before she stood and ate the tart.

“For you, Sarai. For you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is a mess, just had an idea and ran with it. Also I’m new to this, so there might be some issues. I know I’m not an amazing writer but I really enjoyed The Dragon Prince and wanted to build on Amaya’s backstory a bit!


End file.
